There were two hundred or more men present, training in pairs with blunted practice swords, thick quarterstaves or short, broad-bladed spears. Dirgon looked around with interest, there was not a manhe could see that he did not feel he could beat. " So who's this cub?"

Dirgon stoped and turned toward the voice. The man who had spoken was about the same height as Dirgon, but of a much heavier build. The man had tossed his shirt aside to train, and his well-developed muscle glistened with sweat. Dirgon glanced around to find all activity in the yard had come to a halt. Everyone was staring at him.

"I'm Otmar, and you?" a seconds pause before Dirgon answered. "Dirgon." Otmar smirked "Well Dirgon, you think you're better then me?" Another short pause before came between the two men. " I never claimed to be anything of the kind." Dirgon answered, glancing around warily. The other men had abandoned their trainig and were leaning on the railing of the yard, watching him with interest.

Dirgon grinned and flexed his fingers in anticipation. "Whats this then? The traditional lets beat the crap out of the new guy ceremony?" Otmar smilied befor answering. "No, it's more along the lines of lets show the new cub his place!" Dirgons smirk quickly left his face. The rest of the men roared with laughter. Dirgon looked around him, hoping to find even the slightest hint someone was on his side. It was an idle hope.

Dirgon tossed his shirt over the railing and shrugged his shoulders a few times to loosen up. Otmar's fist was like a sledgehammer. It took Dirgon completely by suprise. He staggerd backward, blinking back the white spots that danced before his eyes, derisive laughter ringing in his ears. His jaw felt like it had been relocated on the other side of his head. Dirgon shook his head groggily, squashing the anger that threatend to make him lose his temper, and turned to face Otmar. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth.

Otmar moved again, faster then Dirgon would have believed possible for such a bigg man, although this time Dirgon was ready for him. He blocked the blowwith his right arm and struck back with his left, scoring a hit in the older man's gut, hard enough to make him grunt. The small sound was enough to satisfy Dirgon. "So the cub does have teeth." Otmar laughed, dodging Dirgons next blow.

Dirgon didn't take the bait. He was not easily provoked. Anger led to foolish mistakes, and one mistake could prove fatal. He stood his ground, consciously controlling his breath, balanced on the balls of his feet. Otmar came at him, this time a little more cautiously. the one hit Dirgon managed to land was apparently enough to convince Otmar that he would be in trouble if he let his guard down.

Otmar feinted left and caught Dirgon with a blow to the side of thehead, barely being dodged at the last moment. Dirgon struck back, landing a solid punch under Otmar's jaw, then with his right leg, he swepted the big man off his feet. Otmar landed heavily on his back, but rolled clear before Dirgon could press home his advantage. Otmar gained his feet quickly, slamming his fist into Dirgons chest so hard Dirgon could here his ribs cracking. He staggered backward, but Otmar gave him no respite. He hammered the young man mercilessly. Dirgon managed to land a few more blows, some of them even making an impression, but every time he breathed in a sharp pain stabbed at his left side.

Relentlessly, Otmar pushed him back until he struck the ribs again. With a sudden cry of pain, Dirgon dropped to his knee's. Otmar steped back, panting heavily. "You're hurt." " I can keep fighting." Dirgon gasped. Dirgon looked up and was rather pleased to notice the blood dripping from the cut over Otmar's eye and the large bruise beginning to manifest itself on his jaw. Otmar turned his back and started to walk off. "Get this man some medical treatment." Otmar said walking into the crowed. Two men came to tend Dirgon's wounds.

Az was at the training area, letting off a little energy after a long walk to and through the grasslands. He found this place like had found the rest of the places he had been too, and found civilization. A fighting civ at that. He entered the place, got some water, and decided to go out and look for some competition. It was warm and he was sweating slightly. He entered the area, took off his shirt, tucked it in the back of his pants, and went out. He watched all the guys with swords clanging, and didn't find any of his fancy. Plus most of them kind backed away seeing the size of his muscles.

Before he could even find someone to spar, everyone stopped to go gather around an event unknown to Az. He followed the rest of them, and squeezed to the front to see what was going on. It was a fight, and quite an unfair one. It was against a huge guy, and a littler guy, no older than Az himself, and was having a hard time. Az almost jumped in numerous times at the beating of the young man. It was cruel, and Az was about to jump in and tear the big guy apart if he didn't stop soon. But he stopped, and asked someone to take Dirgon to the med and walked off. He stared at Otmar unbelieveably as he passed by Az. Az stuck out his foot and tripped Otmar as he passed. "Yeah, why don't you give him some treatment? Or do you not know how to fix what you can break?" Az said to Otmar, and rushed to Dirgons side, kneeling there.

Not knowing what Otmar was to do now, he looked over Dirgon. "Alright, I'm gonna help you." He said. He didn't know what more to say than that, and was a little embarrased at the sudden statement, but it was the truth. He took his shirt out of the back of his pants and quickly ripped it into shreds, his muscles rippling with the little effort. He took a chunk and dabbed gently at the blood around Dirgon's face. He took a strip and tied it around Dirgons head, cutting off the blood flow from gashes there. He then said, "Ok, I know I heard ribs crack, and I need to tie the rest of the strips here around your rib cage to set them. I need you to take it easy." He said sternly. He knew he jumped right into things awefully fast, but the other guys weren't going much, and besides, Otmar said to get him some treatment. He tied the strips around Dirgons ribs, tied them firmly, and set the ribs in place. He knew it hurt, but he also knew it had to be done.

(OOC: Mind if I tag along?)

The day drew by slowly, like sands of time ticking away by the grain. The sun was at the peak of the heavens, its radiant warmth cast over the entire stadium. The gentle breeze swayed here and there, providing occasional reprieve from the heat and the tension. Bodies with sweat glistened as hundreds of pairs clashed with each other, makeshift swords and weapons in hand. Each individual exhibited moves and attacks unique to their style of combat, each move and parry more interesting than the last. The way the wooden sword made the striking sound, the sounds of footwork all mixed to create a slow rumbling noise that brought people closer and more interested.

One such figure made his way to the stands, one hand at his side and another holding a strange-looking weapon. He moved with discipline and grace, an odd mix of experience and old habits intertwined to produce an impression of skill and recklessness. He stayed his sights on one particular fight, while trying to move through the small crowd that gathered. It appears that one particular pair outshined the others, and gave much interest to the crowd. The man leaned over the railing trying to catch a glimpse of the action, but to no avail. The crowd was too thick to catch a glimpse in, and in order to view the action that ensued he had to come closer.

The man pressed forward, using his own body to propel him further into the crowd. He did not use his hands or arms, merely his own weight and methods. The man pushed on, arms still as they were, closer to the center of the scene. With one final tug he made his way to the center, and caught a glimpse of what was going on. It was a simple fight with two individuals, though the odds do not seem fair. One man was larger and had more power in his fists, but was not near unstoppable. He still staggered when he recieved a blow or two, but his opponent was more on the recieving end. It was almost leaning to be a slaughter, with the bigger individual overpowering the smaller one. The figure could only watch as the crowd cheered on, and the two exchanged words.

The fight ended quite quickly, with the smaller man defeated. The larger man called some to get aid for the loser of the fight, but was interrupted by another individual. A friend, perhaps? He thought, as he witnessed the newcomer make such an impression. The victor quickly returned to the weakened man, and tended to his wounds. A slight smirk came from his face as he watched the scene, along with a revelation. He would sit around and watch the event, and see what happens. So he stands, hands still as they were, to see what happens between these individuals.

(ooc: I don't mind.)

Dirgons blood that was once gushing from his wounds were now slowly starting to to stop. The blood from his face was being wipped away by th vary man that made them. Dirgon let out a loud cry in pain as the ripped shirt was tied around his cracked ribs. using one of the rails Dirgon slowly pulled himself to a foot. He grabbed his shirt hanging on the rail wrapping it around his battered and beaten body.

Dirgon saw the man who had tripped Otmar and started to make his way toward him. With sharp painful breaths he slowly walked across the yard. Dirgon gave a little smile and nodded his head in thanks to the man for his help. Standing next to the kind stranger Dirgon tried to stand up straight. With one hand wrapped around his beaten ribs Dirgon managed to look up at the man across from him. Despite the sharp pain in his left side Dirgon reach with his opposite hand in for a handshake from the man. "And who do I thank for this act of kindness?" Dirgon gasped after his sentence holding his ribs in pain. Though he still managed to send smile the mans way. Dirgon left his hand extended waiting for a response from the kind stranger.

Az rose as Dirgon did, ready to catch him if he fell from the pain. He did just fine. He listened to him gasp his words, and knew he had to take it easy for a bit. He had to smile though at him, with his persistence to get up and thank someone. He didn't shake the hand of Dirgon, held up a hand and said, "There's no need to." He smile a kind half smile. He didn't feel the need of being thanked for praised for a good deed. Sure, it was normal, and natural at that, but he didn't need it. But, after a pause, he realized it was the polite thing to do. He shook Dirgons hand gently, just in case it was bruised to something, and said, "Az."

(OOC: You could get a NPC healer for one time, if you want to train some more)

The wounded man earlier seemed to recover nicely from his injuries, after the victor earlier tended to his wounds. A slightly disturbing crack was heard when a shirt was tied in his mid section, signs of a cracked bone or some injury. He would need an adept healer to apply magical aid to his body, soon. The figure quickly thought of calling his comrades, but realized that he was alone once again, former memories haunting him. He simply watched as the wounded man approach another.

The wounded man offered a hand to shake his 'savior', which was slightly refused by the other man. The man simply held up a hand, as if saying that such acts are unnecessary. Strange curiousity found its way to the figure, as he observed the strength and determination exhibited by the wounded man. Even in such states he still had enough power to show proper respects, and offer thanks to the man who helped him through. The figure shook his head once more, trying to erase the mystery that wrapped its shadow upon this day. What could make a man go to lengths just to grow more powerful, it shows a purpose like no other. Seeking answers to his queries, the figure decided to approach the two.

Taking one step forward, he made a stand that showed pride and strength, yet unlikely due to his average frame and long hair. He did not show any wild recklessness or fierceness in his steps, as each imprint on the ground was not too shallow as if to be running, but not too deep as apparent in slowly walking. The figure was simply taking his time reaching the two, thinking of what words could escape his lips once he met them. He could simply try a casual conversation at first, but it would seem awkward. His eyes wandered as he pondered on what things to say, until he was no more than two feet away from the two.

Clearing his throat as if to attract attention, the figure made a slight bow to the two of them. He then addressed them in an inquisitive manner, "I cannot help but be last to know what has happened. Is everything alright? He asked, eyes showing greater interest in the wounded man than in the one who held up his hand.

Dirgon heard the voice and on instinct started to turn. With a gasp Dirgon turned back quickly. Dirgon caught his breath and turned back this time turning his whole body. "sorry for that you startled me a bit." Dirgon smirked and gave a seconds laugh. Dirgon tried his best to hide his pain behind his smile but his smile was slowly fading away. "Now back to your question." he spouted off before anyone could see the look of pain on his face. "Every thing is alright, though I will need to have a healer come it. Which should be here at any moment." Just as Dirgon finished his sentence in the distance he saw a figure coming their way at a quick pace. "Well speak of the devil, their he is." Dirgon gave a smile as the man neared them. "Was someone in need of aid?" The man asked. "I am sir. If you gentlemen would excuse me this will only take a few seconds." Dirgon took a few steps from the two men as he did he spouted of. "Thanks for your kindness, the both of you." then slowly he sat down to ease the pain for a moment.

Az took notice of Sanzen approach, and nodded to him in greeting. "A healer now eh? Is there one around here?" He asked, looking around. Then the guy came. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at how quickly he came. Geez, whatever happened to bandages and splints? He thought to himself, knowing the only way to fix someone was through bandages and such. Well, it came in handy when no one could heal themselves, but nowadays, everyone knew how to heal.

He stepped back a little bit to give the healer some room, and let them do their thing. He crossed his arms and watched them to see what would happen.

Sanzen watched as a new figure approached, one who seems to fit the description of a healer of sorts. He could not make out any specific features, but his manner and appearance would seem to suggest that he came to attend to the wounds of the man he was addressing to. Though familiar with basic knowledge of healing, he rarely uses it on others, as his livelihood encourages him to be self-sufficient. His skills in healing magic might be noticeably less than the healer, who was preparing basic tools and bandages to assist in the recovery. Eyes of interest watched the healer as he prepared to heal the wounded.

The figure who had been watching looked back at the two people who was also in the scene. There was the wounded man, who sat down on the ground. He had injuries over his body, but most were tended to somewhat. He seemed to be weak and weary, but as always the physical appearance can always betray the observer. He had no particular marks or afflictions, but the beating he got earlier seemed to have forced him to sit down. The other man was somewhat of a better state. He stepped back to see how the healer would attend to his wounds, arms crossed as he watched. He seemed to be more calm and more healthy-looking compared to the individual that sat down. He might have been a friend or acquaintance that caught up just in time. He would soon find out.

As the healer prepared to tend to the wounded man, Sanzen realized that he did not recognize either of them, but seemed to be around them more than usual. The scene might be common for some, but noticing that neither called each other by a name yet, he figured he would initiate the introductions. This might be an opportunity for a long day, so as to evade the awkward moments and long silence, he broke it off. Speaking in a somewhat surprising tone, he addressed the two. "I know that I came late at the scene, but noticed that we do not even know each other yet. This might seem awkward later on, so might as well do something about the long silence. People call me Sanzen. I came here to see what manner of characters are training here, and see what potential people have of late."

He turned to the man with his arms crossed, and with a gesture continued. "Who might you be?" He asked, eyes suggesting the request for a friendly reply.